


pieces of a broken whole

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: in the shadows [1]
Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Game), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 09:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: "Talion would never quite get used to feeling of sharing his own body."Snapshots of scenes from Shadows of Mordor, depicting the bond between Talion and his Wraith.





	pieces of a broken whole

 Talion would never quite get used to feeling of sharing his own body.

There were many dangers and threats the Rangers had trained him to avoid and prepared him to face, but no one could imagine anything like this.  His death and consequent return had rewritten the rules, and he was still adjusting to them, like a newborn learning to walk.  It was made all the more difficult for that fact that he still carried the weight of his loss, that he was still in mourning, whilst trying to fight back against the darkness with this new ally at his side.

Talion can… feel him.  Like a phantom limb, a presence that hovers over his body and mind, just out of sight.  There are times he fears the Wraith might be engrained in him enough to hear his every thought, feel his every movement, but that does not seem to be the case.  Or, if it is, the Wraith has not let on to it.  His thoughts seem to be his own, unless he directs them to Celebrimbor, something he has grown more and more used to doing.

Still, after living his entire mortal life alone in his flesh, adjusting to sharing it with another soul, to having a watcher and guide follow his every step, was daunting. 

And often, in ways he would never have suspected.

 

* * *

 

The ground beneath him was blackened and rough, hardly suitable for a night’s sleep.  But exhaustion weighed on him heavy enough that Talion found he could sleep on anything.  The location was safe enough; high above the paths orcs took, in a rocky crag with two walls to his sides.  Enemies would have to come from the front, and he would hear them long before. 

Not that it would matter, he supposed, if they found him anyway.

With a sigh, Talion cricked his neck, trying to release the tension as he settled on his cloak.  It was strange to think his death would not be permanent.  It was a new asset to be sure – he could now afford to use it in his strategies; as much as it hurt, it was useful.

Finally settling, the man leaned back, and let sleep take him.  It was dark, and fitful, as it always was, and often left him as sore and tired in the morning as he’d been the night before, but there were times he simply could not continue without it.  Maybe, physically, he didn’t need it anymore – but there was only so long his mortal mind could handle being aware without losing himself.

These dreams, as all his dreams, were marred with blood and pain, screams, the tormented faces of his loved ones, and then –

_Talion_.

He shifted.  A weak pitiful cry escaped him and if he’d been more aware, he might’ve been bothered by it.  A hand touched his shoulder, and he was startled awake, a gasp tearing out of his throat.

A teal silhouette hung over him, blurring the stars that shine through him.  ‘Talion,’ His voice was gentle, almost kind.  It was a far stretch from his usual gruff, commanding baritone. 

“Celebrimbor –“  As it often did, memories and reality came back to him, hit him with the strength of a Graug’s blow – and he fell back against the wall with a heavy, bone rattling sigh.  “Forgive me.”

‘There is nothing to forgive.’ The hand fell from his shoulder slowly, tentatively, but Celebrimbor did not disappear.  ‘You need your rest.’

A bitter chuckle escaped his throat, raw and reedy.  “It seems that is out of reach for me.”

‘Perhaps not.’  Talion lifted his eyes; it was often hard to discern the Wraith’s gaze, as ephemeral and ghostly as it was, but he thought perhaps there was sympathy there.  ‘Allow me…?’  Lifting his hand, the elf gestured to Talion’s head.  He had no idea what that implied, but he nodded his acquiesce.

Celebrimbor reached out, his hand pressing against Talion’s forehead; a strangle, gentle pressure, like falling water.  It pressed against him and into him and he found his eyes falling shut in spite of himself – and he fell, into warmth and darkness, surrounding by shards of memory and cheerful laughter, and all the while the gentle presence in his mind never wavered.

 

* * *

Talion was not a trusting sort. 

Gondor was not a place that fostered such things; even brotherhood came at a cost, where one could stand at another’s side and guard his back, and then find himself tossed out on his face should his words be deemed improper.  He could never adjust himself to their rules and mores, and it cost him… and Ioreth and Dirhael.

A sharp pain shook his heart, and he pulled his thoughts away from such things.

‘You show great loyalty to your country.’  The shade’s spirit faded into view, walking alongside him.  ‘Yet, you seem to hold no great love for her.’

“I love her people.”  _Most of her people_.  “And I love what she could be.”

The elf glanced at him, eyebrow raised.  Talion huffed.  It seemed, no matter his attempts to be sly, the wraith could always read between the lines.

‘They have done you some wrong.  Yet still you protect them.’ 

Talion sighed, almost wishing some orc would burst out of the underbrush, and distract them.  No such luck.  “I was a soldier, in Minas Tirith.”  He began.  “I was proud to serve.  But there are things – laws – that govern things there that no man should be permitted to restrict.  Personal freedoms, and choices… under the guise of defending the city and country against the impending doom of Mordor, we are forced to live small, strict lives.  I rebelled against this.  As did Ioreth.  We both paid the price.”

‘A vague answer.’  Celebrimbor sounded somewhat amused.  ‘You cannot imagine there is anything you would say that might disturb me?’

Flushed, Talion came to a halt.  “What do you mean?”

The elf chuckled.  ‘I have known men – and known Gondor – for centuries.  It is not hard to imagine what they might hold against you.’  Curious, Celebrimbor turned to face him.  His head cocked.  ‘Elves have always been more… open minded, perhaps, about most things.  We are seen as distant, and unfeeling… but it is only due to the way mortals react with horror and scandal to our ways of life.’

It felt as if his heart was pounding in his throat, a heavy lump he forced himself to speak around.  “If you know… why do you ask?”

Celebrimbor smiled.  ‘A burden is more easily lifted when it is set free from the heart.’

Always with the elven riddles.  Still, Talion turned his head away, avoiding those knowing eyes.  “Ioreth… I did love her.  She was my heart, my best friend.  And Dirhael… he was my son, in all the ways that matter.”

‘She was with child,’ Celebrimbor surmised.  ‘And you claimed the child to protect her.’

“And myself,” He chuckled, shaking his head.  “She did it as much for me, as I for her.  A woman who was free with lovemaking was as much frowned upon as… as a man who preferred lovemaking with his own sex.”

‘So you defended each other.  Still, you were removed from Minas Tirith?’

“Despite our best efforts.”  Sighing, Talion approached a nearby rock outcropping, and took a seat.  He felt far too heavy to stand during this.  “A noble had decided that, given Ioreth’s reputation, she obviously would desire his attentions.  She didn’t.  And when he persisted, I took his life in my hands.  It was only Ioreth’s interference that kept me from being put to death.”

‘You were dear to her.’  Celebrimbor sat near him, and even at a distance Talion could feel the weight of his presence.

“Why do you draw out this pain?”  Talion felt himself shaking, putting his head in his hands.  “Have you not seen me suffer enough?  Seen me bleed and die, again and again?”

‘I do not want your pain.’  Celebrimbor’s hand touched his arm, a firm gesture that centered Talion, in spite of himself.  He was drawn to the elf, like a moth to flame.  ‘I wish to heal it, by drawing it out, as one does poison from a wound.’

A wet chuckle escaped him.  “This does not feel like healing.”  He tried desperately to ignore the wetness of his face.  Two hands touched his shoulders, and when Talion lifted his head, he found Celebrimbor kneeling in front of him.

‘Healing is never gentle.’  The elf’s eyes were powerful, determined, riveting.  He couldn’t look away.  ‘You are a sword, Talion.  A weapon against Sauron.  But you are rough and raw yet – I will temper your blade.  And together, we will end his blight, and finally find our peace.’

Of course – Of course.  This is not about him.  This is about their war.  Talion tries to ignore the disappointment he feels at that.

 

* * *

 

He told himself the elf’s only concern was the conflict with Sauron; that if any other man had been in his place, the relationship would have been the same.  Talion is not special.  Still, he can’t help but cherish the interactions between them as Celebrimbor reaches out more and more, to touch him in ways few ever had. 

After a conflict between two orc factions went south quickly, Talion found himself again at the strange and gentle mercy of the elf.

“Leave it,” Gagging, Talion fell back against the ground, trying to ignore the terrifying numbness building in his legs.  Even if he knew, logically, that this was not the end, his instincts and his body could never be convinced of it.  His heart panicked, his mind raced, his blood pumped faster as his body tried all it could to save him.  So often, it failed.

‘That was decidedly foolish.’  Celebrimbor sounded annoyed as his hands fell on Talion.  It was a rare thing for the elf to physically appear and try to heal him like this.  Usually, the increased healing that came from their union was enough to keep him alive.

Not this time.  He’d been blindsided, taking on too many foes, and found a jagged dagger diving between his ribs, crushing a lung and tearing the flesh in such a way that he lost far too much blood in mere seconds.  Still, he’d torn his foes apart, and so Talion counted the mission a success.

He smiled, and blood poured out between his stained teeth.  “Most of my plans usually are.”  Agony gripped him as his organs began to fail, and he found he no longer had the strength to so much as hold up his head.

‘Talion.  Talion!’  Celebrimbor entered his line of sight, furious and demanding.  ‘Do not shut your eyes!’

“Why does it matter?”  His voice was weak and raspy.  “I will be reborn soon enough.”

‘Is that what you desire?’  There was anger in the elf’s voice that Talion did not expect.  ‘Shall you throw yourself at every enemy, mad and suicidal, give yourself a thousand deaths so long as the enemy dies as well?’

Confused, Talion’s brow furrowed. “I thought… that was what you wanted?”

It was a delight to watch shock appear on the elf’s face – even if it was the last thing he saw.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t understand it.

They were meant to be compatriots, comrades in arms, and Talion had had many in his day.  Soldiers he worked and fought beside, people he lived with, and built a life with.  There was a companionship, and intimacy to that.

But it could never match this. 

He had stood shoulder to shoulder with his men; but Celebrimbor was beneath his skin – _inside_ him – and while he knew it was his own perversion that twisted those words, he couldn’t shake the association.  It threw him off, and what made it worse was how unaffected Celebrimbor seemed to be to their intimacy. 

The elf watched over him as he slept, intervening in his nightmares; he watched him bleed and fight, assisting at every step, healing his wounds – _feeling_ his wounds.  Talion would never forget the first time he had stood in combat, and had to watch and feel as his own arms moved without his consent.  A blue hue overtaking his skin, a ghostly bow appearing in the air before him, as another person aimed with his body and took down their enemies.  It was something to see.  Celebrimbor’s aim never faltered, and Talion considered himself lucky to have the elf at his side.

There was no rule book for this relationship; no experience Talion had could prepare him for it.  Even Ioreth, his wife, his dearest friend, the only mortal he’d ever told his most cherished secrets; the girl who, in his youth, had lain next to him beneath the stars as they shared childish dreams for an impossible future that would never come.  Even she was not as close to him, for no mortal shared every moment, every breath of life as one being.

And he had never desired her like this.

He tried to keep it to himself.  His sexual tendencies had always been a terrible shame for him in Gondor, but he felt even worse now.  Celebrimbor was … was so much more than him.  Lord of Eregion, forger of the rings, great Elf-smith and warrior and leader of people.  Talion… Talion was a failed ranger, a failed husband, a curse upon everyone he’d ever known.

These desires were simply his most recent shame.

 

* * *

 

Lies.  It was all… lies. 

Talion felt his legs give out beneath him.  The fight was over, The Tower was dead, and though he’d survived the man felt he’d been killed all over again.  The world was a grey canvas to him, he was numb to light and color, feeling only the agony inside him, the terror, the grief.

He’d known it had to be a lie.

Why would the Elf-lord care for him?  He was only ever a tool.  Any sympathy or kindness was done in Celebrimbor’s own interests.  Suddenly, everything made sense.  It was almost easier.  He finally had an answer for the elf’s behavior and it made sense.  Self interest.  Revenge.  Over the years he had long grown indifferent to the sting of betrayal.

‘Talion.’

The man forced his feet under him.  There was still more to do, still the mission.  The murderers of his family would die at his hand, and then Celebrimbor would set him free.  He could rest, whatever that would mean, whether that would be peace in some eternal realm or the endless dark of a dreamless sleep – either would be prefereable to this.

‘Talion, please.’

He kept walking, hardly feeling the wind or the sun on his skin or the ground beneath his feet.  He walked in a daze.

‘Talion, wait!’

A hand grabbed him, stunned him out of his stupor and the man whirled, fury in his face.  “What?  What more do you want from me!?”  He grabbed at the elf, and in another time he might have been shocked when he touched the cold ghostly form and could grab something.  He pressed the elf against the wall, tears pouring shamelessly down his face.  “You have taken my body, my life, my death, my heart!  What more can I give you, Elf-lord?  How else may I serve?”

Celebrimbor let Talion overwhelm him, quiet, and contemplative.  ‘I wronged you.’  The elf admitted.  ‘I saw a man, young and well trained, and thought to use him.’  The silence was as painful as the words, and Talion bit back the choked sounds of his grief.  ‘Since then… I have seen so much more.  Forgive me, I – I have been selfish.  First for wanting to use you… and then, for becoming so attached to you, I found myself unable to let you go.'

The truth of those words hung round his neck like dead weight.  He knew it was the truth – he could feel Celebrimbor’s pain, for the first time their connection running two ways.  Talion didn’t even know that could happen.  But the elf had opened himself, had let Talion in, and the feeling shocked him into a breathless gasp.

Celebrimbor’s hand lifted to his cheek, trembling.

‘Ask me to release you.’  He whispered.  ‘Ask me to grant you all my power until I am utterly spent – to pluck the moon and stars from the sky and place them in your hands.  All this and more I would do for you.  I am too weak to say no.’

Talion felt himself trembling as he leaned closer, against, and into the elf’s silhouette.  They were apart of one another, they were one, as no other had ever been in his life.  He had loved and fought with others, but no one like this.  No one like Celebrimbor.

“Let us end this,” He whispered into the elf’s neck.  “Let us seek our vengeance, and then… and then, seek what may next find us.”

 

* * *

 

This was not what he saw for his life. 

After Minas Tirith, Talion had seen a long and arduous future, but a good one.  Fraught with the dangers of Mordor, but worthwhile.  A life of defense, and action.  Where he might raise Dirhael, where he and Ioreth could live in peace.  They might never find love, but they had each other, and that was all the love they needed.  It was the most they could hope for, in the confines of Gondor.  And they were happy.

All of that, lost.  Murder and death, Talion suffered through – and it agonizes him still.  Yet on the other side, he has found this – he found Celebrimbor.  And while at times his guilt and pain drown and overwhelm him, he cannot help but feel his family would be happy for him. 

He is free.  And they will be together, in the end.

 

 

 


End file.
